Rolling 1d5: 1
Skill: 「 - 」
The rigorous shaking from her brother did not deter her nor did it settle the ferocity of her feral mode. Amaya hissed like an opossum being cornered in a dumpster, yellowed teeth caked with plaque and whatever she’d last chewed on. Oh no, Alder wasn’t going to stop her, not today. While his violent yanking had pried her off of his leg, amethyst eyes still gleamed with a frighteningly hyper-focused obsession. Yes, she was far from done here.
What was the point of this whole thing again? She’d forgotten it was meant to be a battle of combat, too interested in the way Alder’s leg had tasted. Rabidly, the gremlin’s nails sought purchase in the frozen dirt, clawing manically with every ounce of her might to maintain some sense of traction. She was so close. It was right there. Amaya could almost taste it—quite literally, actually.
Whines akin to an excited husky began to screech out as her nails scraped against the earth. Closer. Closer. Closer. Centimeter by centimeter, inch by inch, she was edging near her target, even as her facial features grew taught from the firm grasp he had on her scruff creating tension.
Finally.
She’d made it.
Her end-all goal. It was here.
Amaya lunged forward, tongue hanging out as she forced it between his toes, wriggling about as her drool oozed in each crevice. It tasted different when compared to his leg, but she liked it.
The rigorous shaking from her brother did not deter her nor did it settle the ferocity of her feral mode. Amaya hissed like an opossum being cornered in a dumpster, yellowed teeth caked with plaque and whatever she’d last chewed on. Oh no, Alder wasn’t going to stop her, not today. While his violent yanking had pried her off of his leg, amethyst eyes still gleamed with a frighteningly hyper-focused obsession. Yes, she was far from done here.
What was the point of this whole thing again? She’d forgotten it was meant to be a battle of combat, too interested in the way Alder’s leg had tasted. Rabidly, the gremlin’s nails sought purchase in the frozen dirt, clawing manically with every ounce of her might to maintain some sense of traction. She was so close. It was right there. Amaya could almost taste it—quite literally, actually.
Whines akin to an excited husky began to screech out as her nails scraped against the earth. Closer. Closer. Closer. Centimeter by centimeter, inch by inch, she was edging near her target, even as her facial features grew taught from the firm grasp he had on her scruff creating tension.
Finally.
She’d made it.
Her end-all goal. It was here.
Amaya lunged forward, tongue hanging out as she forced it between his toes, wriggling about as her drool oozed in each crevice. It tasted different when compared to his leg, but she liked it.
